


The Best of Games

by Typing_is_the_new_writing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Body insecurity, Drug Use, Johnlock - Freeform, Mycroft is showing sentiment, Other, PLOT TWISTS EVERYWHERE, Parentlock, Self Harm, Sickfic (sorta), Triggers, Underage Drinking, angsty, good ol' Uncle Mycroft, like really EVERYWHERE, lots of hospital scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typing_is_the_new_writing/pseuds/Typing_is_the_new_writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have had two children, Ansel, a boy, and Cassandra, a girl. When she plays a game to get attention (she truly is Sherlock's kid, after all) there are some ground-breaking consequences.<br/>(I swear this isn't that cliche, I'm just bad at summaries)<br/>P.S., can someone help me by telling me how to put a work in a series? I'm really sorry, I don't know what to do</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so like this is my first story. Not Brit-picked or beta'd or anything thanks :3   
> This work is now complete, but I will be giving it a follow-up :3

Holmes, Cassandra. 14. Her name and age. The child of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. She had a twin brother, Ansel Holmes. 

They were born from a parental agreement. A surrogate. They knew that. Their mother, or at least the woman who gave birth to them, was a nice lady named Lindsey. They was nothing wrong with the pregnancy, though it was a surprise that they were twins. It was more the kind of twins they were.  
Since they had two dads, there was two types of sperm sent out. It was amazing, but somehow, the sperm each found an egg, meaning the twins were only half related, and by mother. It was called heteropaternal superfecundation.  
Cassandra was obviously Sherlock's child, with dark curly hair that reached past her shoulders.  
Ansel was John's child. He had the same blond hair and eyes.  
The funny thing was their intelligence.  
Cassandra had always played mental games with everyone. She loved to see everyone squirm. When she was about seven, however, she decided that she wanted to play the best kind of game: a test of experience. True, since she was still growing up, so that made it harder. However, this game was on her family, so she wouldn't go easy on them. She pretended to lose interest in learning, that she had lots of friends and people who liked her.  
She acted super dumb. Like she couldn't care about knowledge, like she didn't hunger for it.  
She made a network of paid girls who each had a cell phone with three contacts on it: her's, Sherlock's, and John's  
If her parents called one of her "friends" they texted her for what to do. She would text back the lines for them and tell them to play one of the audio clips saved on the phone if they asked to talk to her. There was even paid "parents" of the girls. It was foolproof.  
This was all a game of chess to her. She knew she wanted to test how smart her dad really was. Test the limits.  
When she threw this plan into action, her parents just moved in to how Ansel was so smart. It was okay with her. Ignorance is bliss.  
This isn't to say that she still didn't "accidentally" slip up sometimes, just to see if they would notice.  
However on this day, she felt dangerously teetering off her edge she set for herself. She had gotten home from school, and was sitting on the sofa watching the telly. Using it for white noise and pretending to be very engrossed in what the actors were saying. It was a sappy romance movie called The Notebook. It was wretchedly stupid, no one cares for the troubles of the couple.  
While pitting in her act, she was deducing Sherlock, since he was conducting an experiment in the kitchen next to her.  
She wished she could go up to him and document what the undoubtably interesting results were. But no, she had to keep her cover, had to play her part in the game.  
So she waited to see if he would ask for any help. He did.  
"Cassandra, can you come here and help me wash away this?" He asked, gesturing to a Petri dish that no doubt had some knowledge behind it. She wished she could say yes, that she could go up there and ask what this had taught, to go up and experiment with him, but she couldn't. She must play the game.  
She glanced over and pretended to be horrified. "Eww. No." She sneered.  
He looked over at her, annoyed. "Why do you think this is repulsive?" He asked.  
"It's just...ewww." She stated, pretending to care more about the movie than her dad.  
He sighed and turned away again, apparently giving up.  
She didn't like doing this, disappointing her parents.  
Whenever Sherlock wanted her to an experiment with him 'just like old times' he'd insist, she said no.  
When she had to choose an instrument for music class one year, the look on their faces when she announced she was playing the flute was like she let them down, unlike when Ansel saying he was going to play the viola.  
She even purposely failed classes. Though right after they got the report card, she brought them all back up to straight A's.  
'The game', she told herself every time, 'it's for the game. I must play my part.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda just a short little chapter. I might throw another one later today thanks :3

It was always kind of funny, why she played the game. She did it to get attention. She wanted to reveal at some point to her whole family that she'd outsmarted them all; that she was even smarter than the great Sherlock Holmes.   
After a while, the movie finished. She moved to her room to pretend to read boring magazines. Eventually, like clockwork, Ansel came home from rugby practice and dropped his bag by the stairs, followed by John five minutes after.   
After a bit, everyone called to her to tell her to get down for dinner.   
"I'm not hungry!" She called back.   
"Come on Cass, it's dinner time." She heard John say.   
She groaned. At dinner she had to be bothered with eating food and making conversation. It was a waste of time. Not to mention, she wasn't really hungry. She hadn't eaten for three days, but she was too busy.   
"Get on down here, yeh?" He said. "There's dessert on the table."   
Dessert. The one thing they all knew she couldn't pass up, be it cookies or gelatin or cakes.   
Dessert was also almost never had. Someone must've noticed that she wasn't eating, or they wouldn't have made it. She'd have to make it look like she was eating things more now. Another blip anonymously reported for her game.   
She headed down anyway, unable to resist the sweets that lay on the table.   
"Ah, there she is," John smiled. "How about you sit down and we all can start eating?"   
She sat down, looking at the plate in front of her. It had thick pea soup and a cut of bread on it.   
This was annoying. There was no way to pretend that you'd eaten soup, either you did or you didn't. She could soak up the soup in the bread, but the bread would be obvious. She knew she would have to obey the Half Rule.   
It was just what it sounded like: to get desserts or to be excused from the table, you had to eat half of your food. It was infuriatingly stupid.   
She begrudgingly picked up the spoon beside the bowl and shoveled it in, as fast as she could. Sitting in the middle of the table was a platter of cookies, and she was determined to get to those.   
"Really hungry, yeah?" John asked her, smiling. So he was the one behind the cookies. She knew she could lie to Sherlock; he took more off of mentalities and body language than physical appearance; but John was trained to know where to look. She couldn't lie to him. She hated that.   
'I need to stop thinking.' She told herself. 'Just eat.'   
Eventually, she finished, took a couple cookies, and scurried back to her room. She devoured the cookies as soon as she reached the threshold for her room, and went to bed, hoping everyone else would do the same. She took a power nap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twisty twisty

At 12:37, she was revived again. She couldn't help but to do an experiment; it had been too long ago. She went downstairs quietly to the kitchen. She'd need a sink, and the bathroom was too close to everyone.  
Taking a fresh Petri dish from a cupboard, she decided to watch mayonnaise break down. After applying the formula to strip it, she waited. Then, a pair of footsteps descended the stairs. Sherlock's, judging by stride. Her eyes went wide as baseballs. She couldn't have him cheating at the game!  
She tried to hide her experiment, but all she had time for was hiding herself. She was glad she was flexible, at least. She curled up in a bookcase and waited for him to leave, praying he didn't notice the mayo.  
Her hopes were dashed. The first thing he did was grab another Petri dish and lay it on the counter, right next to the mayo.  
He started frantically looking around for someone. He found her in the bookcase and made her come out.  
"What's this about?" He asked her angrily. "You couldn't possibly be interested in experiments, you don't care about learning either, so what's this about?" He continued on, anger level rising.  
"I....I..just.." Her eyes were wide. She'd played so good he didn't even think she could be playing. Emotions ripped through her: anger, fright, guilt, and most of all; sadness. Her eyes got blurry as she felt tears start to stream down her cheeks. She couldn't take it. She flew out the door, onto the streets. She quickly scanned the map of his whole city, ruling out paths that had any of uncle Mycroft's cameras. She decided a path and ran off to a hiding place, an abandoned tunnel.


	4. Chapter 4

When she got into the safe walls, she resumed her crying silently until she felt better. As soon as she did, she tried desperately to control herself. She always knew how to do it, but no matter how hard she tried, nothing could make her stop crying in a little ball, so she just laid there. She hated being vulnerable to emotions. She grabbed a small drawing book out from a corner in a wall. It was almost full, she would have to replace it soon.   
She drew her problems away, transferring them to the page.   
This may seem like a weird thing to do. However it was the best way to deal with things without cutting herself. She couldn't cut because it would leave too big a hole in her character. If she cut her wrists or thighs, the marks would show, because she always tried to pretend to dress popular, and that meant revealing clothes. She had to pretend to put up a fight whenever John or Sherlock told her to change into respectable clothes. If she cut her stomach, the problem remained.   
This time, however, the page wasn't enough. Her head still raced with unwanted thoughts. She tried to sort out why her emotions were making her irrational, but she couldn't think straight enough.  
She knew of only one way of clearing her head. With a grimace at her broken promises, she grabbed her pencil sharpener and loosened the screw enough to pull out the razor. After separating the razor from its plastic case, she peeled down her sock, telling herself no one would notice. She held the razor at the base of her ankle, and dragged it across, feeling her skin rip and seeing beads of crimson on the line.   
It wasn't enough. She needed more pain to center her thoughts. She ripped another line through her skin. Her mind felt more focused, but there was still too many useless facts flying about in her head.   
Another cut. She felt clear, like a pane of glass, and went on with her thoughts, the bliss of silence coursing through her veins. 

 

She shuffled through her own mind palace, reaching an old desk. This was the first room in her mind palace, also the control center. The foundation, if you'd like.   
She sat down on he desk, an old habit arising of when she kept getting placed on desks when she was little. She laid down, feeling the wood's little imperfections, like a dent someone made when they were wrong, a little piece that felt greasy, as a result of an experiment.   
There she sat, thinking how such a small comment made her cry and run away. It showed that she was playing the game perfectly, so why did she feel like the words were daggers to her heart?  
After sorting out things, she suddenly realized: it was because she expected them to figure it out! Her mind flashed back to all the small slip ups she purposely made, the chinks in her armor.   
She realized she was why she was crying.  
This game she created, characters and all, it was....crushing down the real her. That's why she always allowed herself to mess up her cover slightly. She was scared of the game, only playing it because she'd been so committed to it she didn't really even have her own personality. She wanted to be found out.   
She curled up and cried again, hoping the emotions would pass. They did get better.

 

After she was sure that she wouldn't cry again, she sat up, thinking of her "reason" for going missing. She could show she got drunk. She already had bloodshot eyes. That seemed okay. She practiced slurring her speech, walking drunkenly. When she thought her work was satisfactory, she went barreling to the other side of the city on a camera-free path. She had to keep her hidey-hole hidden. Then, she stumbled drunkenly throughout the city, in the cameras, till she got home.  
*****  
She got to the door of the flat, and stumbled in, falling on her face as if she was surprised the door opened with her weight. The brief glimpse of what was going on let her see her parents really were worried. She could see Sherlock hidden deep in his mind palace, not even bothering moving his hand to whisk away unneeded information. She could see John on the phone, yelling at the other side.  
Ansel was sitting at the top of the stairs, watching them rush frantically to find her with a bored expression.   
As soon as she hit the ground with a thud, they all looked at her except Sherlock, too deep in. She couldn't see, but she heard John rushing over to her, to see if she was okay. She felt him turn her over, and she started mumbling nonsense words, all before pretending to pass out.   
She felt him check her pulse, him lifting her eyelid to see her still-bloodshot eyes. And he started to cry. The crying must've snapped Sherlock out of his mind palace, and he rushed over to John and her.   
"....Harry, just like Harry,..." She heard fragments of sentences through his crying. "...a drunk..."   
She heard Sherlock gasp.  
"Sh-she's drunk? How much?" He asked, his own voice starting to crack.   
"At least a bottle!" He cried. Wow, her acting was better than she thought. "She's only 14. 14, Sherlock!" He cried once more.   
"...my fault..." "...shit father..."   
This wasn't right. She...she'd hurt them. This....this wasn't what she wanted! This was all a mistake!! She tried desperately to get up, to tell them she was tired and she was crying, that this was a game, but The Character stopped her. 'This is how the game works. You knew that. You knew they might get hurt, and you agreed to it. This is YOUR FAULT!!' It screamed at her, each word a knife, ripping her heart out.   
'A game!' She tried desperately, but it wasn't strong enough. She wanted to curl up in a hole and die.   
She HAD caused this, she knew this might happen. She still went along with the game. This WAS all her fault. 

 

Suddenly, the loud sobbing over her stopped. She felt John pick her up, something no one had done since she was very little, and carry her up the stairs to her room. He laid her down in her bed and sat down on a chair across from the foot of the bed. She waited for him to leave, but he never did. Soon Sherlock came in too, sitting down next to him. She could feel the disappointment in their gazes as they watched her. She could hear John talking to Sherlock about how he felt, and it made her want to jump into a volcano.   
"I knew something bad was going on. She wasn't eating, she wasn't sleeping, God knows how many times a bottle touched her lips." He said bitterly. "I'm just as good as my father. She's probably going to end up like Harry." He continued.   
After that declaration, Sherlock spoke up. "It's not your fault, John. It's mine." She could hear the arrogant, confident person he was washing away. "I caught her doing an experiment. I told her she couldn't possibly be smart enough to do that, and she ran away." He continued.  
She tried to stay awake and hear more, but her body forced her into oblivion, where her nightmares lay.   
*****  
She was awoken to bright sunlight flushing through her room. Last night's details flew into her mind, and she recoiled like she had a hangover. She did force her eyes open and saw John holding back the curtain with one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Scanning his face, she knew she was as good as dead. His face was mean, the expression practically yelling at her already. The idea of snapping her own neck seemed very appealing suddenly.   
"I can't believe you! You run off in the middle of he night to just return drunk out of your mind! How could you!?" His words were sharp and violent, like he'd rather treat her like a punching bag than yell at her. She knew better than to stop analyzing there. When she went deeper, she wished she didn't. She could hear uncertainty and insecurity in his voice. He was scared of what she'd done. She'd....hurt.....him...  
'You knew! Your fault!' The Character screamed at her. It was right. So Cassandra just sat there, getting yelled at by John.   
'My punishment.' She told herself bitterly. 'My fault.' She agreed with the character. John's words kept coming like throwing stars. Suddenly, his words stopped, and he was panting. He punched the wall he was next to and stormed out of the room. She could hear Sherlock talking to him outside the door. That meant he was going to try at her.   
Soon, Sherlock opened the door to her room. He wasn't seething, like John, but rather more sad. Had he..? No, he would have told John.   
"Why?" He asked weakly. "I saw your ankle. We both know you didn't drink or this room would smell like alcohol. Why?" He asked more forcefully after stating the facts like a gambler.   
She wanted to tell him it was just a game; she didn't want to do this. But her voice produced nothing but what sounded like a choked cry.


	5. Chapter 5

How could you?!" His tone was accusatory, but she could hear his voice cracking.   
She herself started crying. She was scared. Scared of them both, of hurting them. She was scared of herself. Scared of Daddy John, who brought her cookies and taught her how to defend herself and how to use a first-aid kit. All her memories of happiness and love were smothered by the rant he gave her earlier. She was scared of Daddy Sherlock, too. Who taught her to read faces and make deductions, who helped her build her mind palace wall by wall, who taught her confidence.   
She hated these things. These EMOTIONS. They made her lose control, they clouded her thoughts, made her vulnerable to anything. Vile things, emotions.   
She curled up into a tiny ball once more, sobbing silently. 'Your fault. You weren't smart enough!' The Character sneered at her. She felt Sherlock's hand on her back, trying to comfort her.   
'Oh look, now he's blaming himself because you were too stupid. You're making him suffer more!' The Character was screaming in her ear now, guilting her more.   
"Alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!" She cried desperately. Sherlock's hand jerked away immediately, and she could hear him backing away, breath quickening. Was he..? He started weeping too, she could hear him. John raced into the room, leaving the door wide open. She forced back the tears best as she could and ran like Hell itself was behind her. She tumbled out the front door to the building and raced off to a stocked "in case of an emergency" hiding place.  
*****  
When she got there, she cried until she felt like she had no more tears left. Her mind snapped her out of her weeping as she knew this was a bad thing. She needed food and water. This particular hiding place did have a couple of disguises, and she could make use of them now.   
She stripped off her tear-covered, grimy clothes and put on a fresh outfit that she wouldn't be caught dead in. She grabbed a small box of makeup and applied its contents tastefully, something her character could never do. To top it all off, she grabbed a dull brown wig and managed to shove her hair in it.   
She looked like a completely different person.   
'Good,' she told herself 'I can't hurt them if they don't know I'm me.' In her own way, she believed this was better than hurting them by being in their lives. 'It's okay, they'll probably just forget me.' She told herself. Even as she thought the words, she knew they weren't true; but she couldn't stand to do that again.   
She desperately wanted to cry forever and ever, or at least until she died. But some kind of survival instinct in her clicked. She breathed out and in slowly and deliberately. "Water. Food. It's time to get those things, Cassandra." She told herself out loud.   
She got up slowly and got out of her hiding place to slip into a crowd so walking to the restaurants and businesses was less suspicious. When the crowd got there, they disbanded, leaving her to stroll the shops alone. She went to a small ATM machine and withdrew some money from an account she made long ago and filled for this very purpose. She had enough to get some decent food and plenty of water.   
*****  
She brought the goods she purchased to the hole, deciding it would be her home. She drank enough water to survive and hid the necessities in a cache in the wall. She sorted out her problems and priorities the rest of the day and then slept at night, figuring she needed all the strength she could gather. 

Her sleep was filled with nightmares, however. In one of the nightmares, she was a doll. There was a doll next to her, looking exactly like The Character. The dolls were sitting on a shelf, above what was a crying baby. A tall, manly figure materialized, missing a face. He grabbed her and held her out to the generic-looking baby, before speaking harsh words: "No, this one isn't smart enough." He said before tossing her over his shoulder. She landed on air, and she was just high enough to still see the scene. The man grabbed the character and held it out to the baby. "This one is much better; it won't hurt you." He said. Then, the patch of air that was holding her up dissipated; leaving her to fall into a dark, endless pit of oblivion.   
Her eyes snapped opened, and she examined what happened in her sleep. She was covered in a coat of cold sweat, her hands were trembling, and her lungs felt like someone had punctured them with a tack for fun. She felt dizzy and her heart was running a marathon. Her mind went straight to work and she realized she was a victim of a panic attack. Her mind tumbled through the symptoms:   
Racing heart: check  
Dizziness or feelings of detachment: check  
Trembling or shaking: check  
Chest pain or discomfort: check  
She went red-faced as she remembered back when she was a child, in school. She was shunned by the other kids, and she never understood why. She ran away and hid in a corner, until realizing it was a trap. The kids surrounded her, and she'd had a panic attack. She remembered that Daddy Sherlock came that time; he took her away from the other kids and took her home. He told her she had a panic attack and helped her make a mind palace room where she could store information about what do do if she got a panic attack, how to stop it, and prevent it as best she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I based the panic attack off of my own experiences, but if I'm wrong, feel free to scold me :3


	6. Chapter 6

She ran to that room, eager to stop the feeling of her heart being cut out of her with a nail file.  
When she reached the room, she went over the information once more. She pulled out a mental list, scanning it over.  
Acknowledge and accept the attack: check  
Make yourself more comfortable, lean against a sturdy wall or surface: she readjusted herself so she was sitting with her back straight against the wall and continued.  
Think of happy and calming thoughts: she remembered how Daddy Sherlock taught her to dance by making her stand on his feet as he guided her arms around. It had the desired affect.  
Wait it out, and remember this will not last forever: She waited, thinking of better, happier days of her life until she felt her heart slow; the caged animal become docile once more. Her breathing slowed with it. Her hands stopped shaking and she felt more wholesome and definite. It was over. Over. She snuck a view of the window to outside, only to realize it was engulfed in a patch of sunlight. There was no time to sleep; she needed to do things.  
She went to the makeup kit and wiped her face clean, then reapplied the disguise. She changed clothes to another dreadfully horrid ensemble, and crammed her hair into a blonde wig. After checking her reflection in the pocket mirror she had, she realized she resembled one of the bully girls from her school. The one whose mother sometimes sent them cheap cookie tins and made her daughter deliver them and make conversation. Perfect!  
She couldn't hurt them if they didn't know it was her. She practiced making her voice the same as the girl's.  
*****  
After a trip to the store and a short walk, she stood outside of her home, cookie tin in hand. 'My OLD home,' she told herself. 'I don't deserve to live here.' She insisted.  
Keeping that remark in mind, she bravely raised a fist and knocked on the door, unsure if she was ready to see what lied behind it.  
Once the door did open, she was sure she never wanted look what was behind it ever again.  
John opened the door. His face looked older, it was obvious he hadn't slept in the nights she ran back into his life and out again. "What?" He asked tiredly and annoyed, until he realized it was the girl. He coughed, straightened his spiky hair flat again and tried again: "I'm sorry, what?" He asked, making it seem as if he was happy and all was fine.  
It hurt.  
'I'll hurt him more if I run into his life again.' She reminded herself.  
She coughed, clearing her throat. "I'm Leslie," she claimed, remembering the girl's name. "My mother insisted I bring you this gift she got you. She said that she's dreadfully sorry that she couldn't deliver these and catch up with you herself," she prattled on, like Leslie always did, careful to stick to her cover.  
"Oh, that's wonderfully kind of her. I'm sorry though, but we aren't prepared for guests. Tell her we are very thankful for the gift, but you'll have to come another time." He said.  
She put her foot in the door; a reminder that she wasn't going to leave. Leslie did this before, she reassured herself. "I'm sure the place can't be THAT bad," she said to him, attempting to be let in.  
"No, really, it's best you don't see the place like this. I'm very sorry you had to waste your time though." He insisted, trying desperately to make her leave.  
"Nonsense. This isn't a formal thing; it'll be fine. And I think a little bit of catching up is in order," she responded.  
"No, really, please....just....leave." He tried desperately, but she had already opened the door and entered the flat. It was a complete mess; with papers and weapons strewn about. The sofa and chairs were still visible; as well as the little coffee table in the middle of them. She laid down the tin and opened it, showing restraint against shoving them all in her mouth at once. She sat down on the sofa, just like Leslie did when she visited. Her acting was good.  
John went upstairs and retrieved Sherlock, his eyes sullen and dull, deeply etched into a worried face. He sat down in his chair, and John sat in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rly sorry. I don't like hurting the characters, but like I just want to tell you if you can't handle what's happened so far, you should stop reading.


	7. Chapter 7

They made idle chat with her, nibbling the cookies with little interest. They asked if she knew anything about where she (Cassandra her) was, if she'd heard or seen anything. Both her answers were no, not wanting to be tangled in the investigation.   
Soon, the cookies were gone, and John was more than happy to let her leave.   
*****   
When she arrived at her home, she knew one thing for sure: this wasn't a good idea. She was driving them apart when she was there, and ruining their lives when she wasn't.   
Ansel was at rugby practice, but she was more than sure he was happy with her gone.   
This problem was bigger than herself; that much she knew. What she didn't know was how to fix everything, how to clean her mess.   
Once again, she dived head-first into a panic attack. Her whole body wrenched and trembled, her heart flew, and she felt like a piece of glass about to fall and break. This wasn't just panic though; she found new symptoms melding with old ones. She was hyperventilating, on the brink of consciousness, and chills racked her body. She felt like she was being crushed by the weight of air alone. This was new, this could potentially KILL her for all she knew.  
She needed help.   
She managed to crawl outside of her home and lay against a wall. She didn't believe in any religion, but she prayed to any deity that might be out there, hoping someone who could help her would pass by. Her prayers were answered, when a man, 5'10", married with three children, one a toddler, and two teenagers.   
"Hey, girl, are you all right?" He leaned down and asked, concern in his eyes. 'That must come form having children you love deeply' she thought. And panting, she shook her head.   
"What's wrong? Do you need an ambulance?" He asked her.   
She nodded, focusing on taking long, ragged breaths to get air in her lungs at all. She felt if she stopped for a second she would die. Like every breath she took was nothing but a temporary wall to keep her alive, but one she was determined to keep up.  
"Okay, okay, I'm calling one right now." He told her before turning around and telling the operator who she was, where they were, and what was wrong.   
"There is a teenage girl on King's Road who seems to not be able to talk or breathe." The man paused. "No, I don't know her or her parents." He answered. "Thank you, bye." He hung up the phone and turned back to her.   
"You're gonna be all right. There's an ambulance on the way. Just hold on till then." He told her calmly. "Can you stand?" He asked her. She shook her head, a no. Right after that, she fell of the edge. Oblivion claimed her and whisked her away without a care. 'I'm dead,' she thought. 'I didn't breathe enough, and now I'm dead.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear she's not dead; bear with me. This story is going to be MUCH longer than I anticipated.


	8. Chapter 8

She wasn't dead, though. She awoke to find that much was evident. She relaxed and scanned her surroundings. She was in some hospital, and she was currently hooked up to all kinds of machines and tubes. There was a syringe of morphine in one arm and saline in the other. Beside her, an empty nightstand. 'That's good,' she thought. 'That means no one knows me or my parents and therefore they'll never know about me. Panic rippled in her when she realized now she was conscious, the staff would ask her who her parents were. Any names she would give would be contacted, and she was better off dead.   
A perky young nurse poked her head in and saw she was awake. "Oh good, you've come to." She said. Her small name tag said Kayla. She was in her middle twenties.   
"Well sugar plum, what's your name?" She asked, picking up the clipboard on the end of the bed, a pen poised above it.   
She decided to use the alias's bank account's daughter name. "Miranda." She answered, racking her brain for Lindsey's last name.   
"Miranda Loys."   
"Well, Miranda, do you know who your parents are?" Kayla question while writing her name.   
"I'm her father." A familiar voice answered her.   
Kayla turned her head and Cassandra saw who it was. Dread filled her veins, making her wish the ground would open up and swallow her.   
In the doorway, leaning on an umbrella, was Mycroft. He wore a bored expression on his face.   
"Oh, hello mister. What is your name then?" Kayla asked him sweetly.   
"Mycroft." His eyes washed over the clipboard. "Mycroft Loys." He answered.   
"Well, Mr. Loys, I'm afraid you can't have a reunion with your daughter now; I have to talk to you first. And Miranda has some checkups and briefings to do while we discuss." She smiled sweetly and pulled him aside. She also pressed a couple buttons on her pager, no doubt to send a doctor in, and whisked away with Mycroft in tow.   
A man, slightly pudgy, 5'7", very positive, happily married, walked in. "My name's Dr. Johnson." He said. "I'm here to tell you about some new things you're going to start doing."   
***  
Mycroft had to go to Dr. Tyler's office to discuss about "Miranda". "Hello. Are you the fourteen-year-old's father?" He asked, offering a handshake.   
"Yes. I am Mr. Loys, father of Miranda. Pleasure to meet you." Her answered, accepting the handshake.   
"I'm here to talk about Miranda." He said, opening a file.   
'Of course you are.' Mycroft thought to himself, very much annoyed.  
"So she was found on King's Road, when someone called in saying she couldn't breathe. She was unconscious when the ambulance got her, but that wasn't the only problem. Poor little thing was having a panic and an anxiety attack at once, causing cardiac arrest. She stabilized relatively quickly though; nothing short of a miracle on her part. It was also revealed that her lungs had internal bleeding and her diaphragm was slightly damaged. She'll no doubt recover, but she'll be on numerous medications until she does. I'm putting her on.." The doctor ratted on, and Mycroft realized how horrifically parallel Cassandra was to Sherlock. The running away, the jumping straight into the world again, broken and scarred, the parent troubles... The only thing they seemed not to share was..  
"...but there is a serious problem as well. She has depression." The words knocked Mycroft out of his thoughts. The doctor was looking directly at him. "The scans we did revealed it wasn't any genetic fault, though. She'll need to take medication, I recommend a tricyclic." He said. "Is that clear?"   
"Crystal." Mycroft responded.   
"Good." He said, closing the folder of "Miranda's" health. He put it back where it came from and turned back to Mycroft. "Then I'm sure we can reunite you and your daughter." He said with a smile.  
"If you'll follow me..."

 

When Mycroft and the other doctor arrived at the room she was in, she was ready to snap her own neck.   
"Hello Miranda." He said, tone stern.   
"Hi father." She responded with an even tone.  
Kayla the nurse walked in again and brought some conflicting news. "They said you're good enough to get released. Isn't that wonderful?" She asked cheerily, disconnecting Cass from everything.   
*****  
Cassandra and Mycroft sat in the back seat of a sleek black car, Mycroft giving her the silent treatment with a helping heaping of death glare.   
Fine with her.  
She pretended to look out the window absentmindedly. "What is it?"she asked nonchalantly.   
On the inside, she wanted to sob and beg for him just to let her go, but she knew better than to despair in front of a businessman like Uncle Mycroft. She was going to use tact and smarts to escape this.   
"You. You are being extremely problematic," he said, his voice cold and distant; a parallel from her childhood memories. "How could you even THINK of running away, and returning like....THIS!?" He shouted, gesturing at her.  
"In case you'll remember, I was trying to live, not run head first back into the world." She reminded him with a flat voice.  
"I don't care. I'm not taking you directly to your fathers; you have plenty of explaining to do first." His tone was sharp, his words absolute. He had no intention of letting her leave.   
"I don't see why, it's not like you haven't seen this before." She took a venture, knowing it was correct when brief emotions flashed over his face.   
The rest of the ride was spent in silence.  
******  
Ever since Cassandra's disappearance, 221B was in utter chaos. You could see the lack of sleep and sadness in Sherlock and John's faces. They looked hollow; broken. Ansel was sent off to stay at his friends' houses every night. The flat was littered in papers and weapons, Mrs. Hudson was trying desperately to get them outside, with other people. They were on the edge of life, about to tip over and not even care. Sherlock kept replaying the memories of her, searching for a motive for what she'd done. Puncture wounds littered his arms and legs, a sign he was using yet again. John started drinking heavily, blaming himself. Even Greg started trying to get them out of the house, offering loads upon loads of cases. All efforts yielded the same result: they both shoved everyone trying to help them out of their lives, preferring to suffer in a festering pool of pure broken-heartedness.


	9. Chapter 9

Several days had passed since the fiasco at the hospital. Cass lost track. She was spending all her time locked up in the tiny, hidden room she'd found and claimed as hers. Nobody could get her out, not even was she swayed at the mentions of luscious desserts.   
She was trying to earn a bargaining chip. Uncle Mycroft was a businessman, as diplomatic as they come, too. If she could find a way to get a healthy compromise of BOTH their causes, she will have won. Her built-up resistance to eating regularly also helped a great deal. Mycroft would have to give in soon, or she'd be whisked away to the hospital again, and they were right where they started; taking even longer to reach an agreement. This wasn't a matter of her punishing herself; only a matter of protecting those she loved.   
But who was she protecting, really? The thought was unwelcome but flooded her mind just the same. Was she being selfish by staying away? 'No, I'm a bomb. I'll just go off again, and they won't be able to handle that. The best way of protecting them is not being there.' She assured herself constantly, whenever the thought surfaced. 'But what you're doing now; it's going to hurt them worse. You saw what's happened, does that look SAFE to you?' The lingering doubt always accompanying it, claiming going back was the better choice. The other side would argue back how she could do it again, and they'd be worse.   
The sides bickered endlessly within her, all the raw EMOTIONS ripping through her barriers. She needed them gone, needed it to STOP...  
Her eyes flickered over at the small blade she nicked from the kitchen on her first tour of the house. 'I could end it all....' She drifted 'I could end this useless arguing, these EMOTIONS. Neutralize the threat..' She thought sickeningly, unknowingly reaching for the blade. 'End it all...'   
'What a blissful thought, filled with hope.' She commented. 'Nothing but silence. Complete silence. Forever. No suffering, no decisions, no effects. No right, no wrong, nothing but silence. Where no one suffered because of her or her choices. Where she could do anything, BE anything. The whole world, removed, just like THAT.' She was being betrayed by her mind, her only weapon. Sort of like having a country to war with, but your own warriors rebelling. Suddenly, it wasn't just pieces on her playing board of the game. Cut stone turning to flesh and blood; pieces turning into people. She was a Queen. Surrounding her were squares of black and white and directly across from her was The Character. There was no logical limits of the board; it went in as far as she could see and probably even farther than that.   
There were pieces already in play, but after scanning them quickly, she realized there was no way to win. All she had was a couple pawns, resembling her bullies from school, her castle, which was disguised as the front door of 221B, and her bishop, which looked like Uncle Mycroft. Across from her, on The Character's side, there stood her Dads, Sherlock and John, as knights among bunches of faceless bodies.   
Uncle Mycroft turned to face her, eyes full of smugness. "You won't be able to win this, dear. You've got nothing you can use against her; she's too strong.   
'No,' something inside her insisted. 'I will fight, and I will WIN!' The chess piece her screamed, running into battle with nothing but her bare hands. She watched helplessly as The Character sent her knights to kill her. Both John and Sherlock raised their swords and charged at her, cutting her to shreds with not a spark of remorse or love in their cold eyes. Suddenly, she was yanked out of the scene, only a chess board again.  
But now The Character sat across her; hands gesturing to the board. "This is what will happen. They couldn't possibly forgive you for hurting them so. Why must you feverishly believe they wouldn't?" She asked, words reasonable.  
"No! They love me! That is why they are doing this! They would never leave!" She cried out desperately, hitting her head with her fists against her ears. "Sure, they love you now, but they will give up. You will not be wanted. They will DESPISE you. Alone will protect you. Alone will not turn you away." It hissed in her ears, making her writhe in agony until she heard footsteps.   
"Oi! It's week two, day five. You gonna come out and eat, little girl?" An unfamiliar voice questioned.   
She wanted to snap a remark, wanted to tell the person off, like she always did when one of those people came to bring her out. But she couldn't; she just wanted the voice to go away. She sat there and scrunched up more, pain overriding her mind. Thousands of useless thoughts bouncing around, all at once, hydrogen peroxide bleaches hair, her geography teacher is having an affair, rats can chew through cement. It all washed up on her without warning; her mind palace was collapsing and the facts had to go somewhere.   
She was vaguely still connected to the world, but it was like looking through a foggy window.  
She heard lots of footsteps outside the door. Some voices screaming.   
She winced, the mere sound being harsh and ripping against all the quiet she'd been surrounded with.   
Some person with a newfound key unlocked the little cover door to her room. Everyone was shouting about something. Something like "Get out!"   
She realized this was some effort to keep her safe, the voices all yelled with urgency.   
She snapped out of her trance, back into the unmerciful world. Quickly, she scrambled to get out, but her body wouldn't obey. It was like there was a plug not all the way in, allowing necessary functions like blinking and breathing, but not enough power to actually MOVE.   
"Out! Get out now! Hurry!" The voices were screaming at her.  
"Can't....move..HELP!" She tried desperately.   
Someone must've head her plea out in the madness. A small boy, around her age crawled up the shaft and grabbed her body, squeezing her close before jumping back out.   
He laid her on the ground and ordered everyone to give her space.   
Everything was fuzzy. So fuzzy.....   
She could feel herself tumbling into unconsciousness now..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for all the sudden twists! My bad, but I kinda get bored easily :(


	10. Chapter 10

When she awoke again, she was in yet another hospital building, yet for some reason still wearing her clothes. She had a hint of a headache, and she was very dizzy, but she could ignore it. There was no restraints on her, no tubes except saline, as always, nothing but an oxygen machine and a heart monitor. 'What did me in this time?' She wondered.  
There was no doctors, and no annoying little perky nurses in with her to explain at the moment, so she tried to grab at the foot of the bed, hoping for a clipboard. It took her quite a few tries, she was very weak. She got what she wanted. After grabbing the dull wooden clipboard, she looked at the stats. She kept squinting her eyes, as they were a little blurred.  
Carbon monoxide.  
She'd been exposed to enough to kill an adult, and yet even with her lung injuries, even when she'd eaten nothing but pills, she miraculously survived! It was impossible! She could've, no should've, no POSITIVELY died! But here she was!   
Her fascination was interrupted when she heard a confident stride, accompanied by an umbrella that tapped, coming her way. She rippled as she frantically threw the clipboard on the stand next to her, pretending a doctor had come and collapsed more on the bed, letting her body go lax just in the nick of time.   
She heard Uncle Mycroft come into the room, sitting on one of the chairs next to the bedside. She heard him set his umbrella against the chair's arm and felt a tentative hand brush her curly locks of her face.  
"This scares me. I didn't know how to help Sherlock when this was him and I don't know how to help you. You're so fragile; so very fragile. I can't protect you. Even with all these assets, I am useless. It doesn't get easier the more it happens; I felt horrible then and I feel horrible now. I don't know." He bared his heart to her. God, how many times has he done this? Was it the first? The sixth?   
He cleared his throat. "I could send you to rehab. But why for? It didn't even work for Sherlock. Not to mention, there is nothing to rehabilitate. You're not really drinking, you aren't doing drugs either. You're not even really living. It's been three days, sweetheart. Everyone's giving up on you. If you want to play a miracle, everyone's watching. Now's the time, or they'll.." He drifted off in despair.   
"I can't lose you. I lost Sherlock twice, I can't handle much more. There's nothing I can do to help. You have to fight, Cassandra." He confessed to her. She couldn't bear him like this. She'd lost both of her dads, but she wouldn't give up Uncle Mycroft for anything.  
'The Character can suck my ass!' She thought.   
He brushed her face again, moving more hair. She sleepily started opening her eyes, pretending to come back to the world of the living. "Wha..?" She tried again, "What? What happened? Where am I?" She had her eyes wide and curious now; she was fully awake, and looking at Mycroft. He looked happier and lighter now that she'd woken.  
"Something broke in the walls, and your little hideout took most of the fall. Carbon monoxide poisoning.  
You should've died. It's been three days now; everyone else lost hope." He explained quickly. Then, with a different tone, a more neutral one, he continued, "I'll make a deal with you. What are your original terms?"   
"I want to walk away from this. I won't tell you what happened and in return I promise to disappear." She carefully laid out her lines, waiting for a response.   
"Let's say I let you walk away from this, let you disappear. But you have to tell me what happened." He countered.   
"Let's not," she responded.  
"No story and I keep you? We could try that." He suggested. "That is the last outline. Turn it down, and all agreements are off. I'd take my chances if I were you." He cautioned.  
Cass gritted her teeth. There were ways around the lines, but her brain was still muzzy from the time it hadn't been used.   
However, he wasn't going to let her recover her wits, now he had the upper hand. This was the only ultimatum that she would get.   
She took a deep breath "I'll tell you; but I walk and disappear." She decided.  
"I knew you'd come around." Mycroft responded, smiling falsely. "Now, the story. And I mean the WHOLE story; this goes too deep to just be spontaneous. You've been hiding things for too long." He eyes and tone was stern.  
She told a brief fake story about how she wanted to run away for a while, and regretted it as soon as she'd carried out her plan.  
The whole time, he looked like he was buying it.   
"...that's why I did what I did." She finished, looking sincere.   
"Right. Well. I'd like to hear the real story now; that may have been clever on the spot, but I know it's not true." He chided her.  
It was too many loose ends; she couldn't think straight enough to come up with another story. She would have to come clean. She sighed deeply at her own weakness and told him everything. The game, how she really was astonishingly smart, her cuts, how she ran away, how scared she was at the notion of going back, how she thought she was hurting them by staying. Everything.   
When she had finished, tears she didn't know she had started streaming down her cheeks. She was an emotional wreck. She hid her face from him, hoping he wouldn't antagonize her, that he might just leave her alone now that she'd told the real story. Let her walk away and disappear.   
A long pause hung in the air; neither one knew how to react.  
Mycroft was the one to break the silence, in the end. "You've just been pretending?" He asked, his tone incredulous.   
"Yes, and I was doing a fine job about it until I decided to do a bloody experiment. Bang-up plan, yeah?" She answered, looking back at him with bitterness sketched into her face.   
"All those years... Not YOU, but some character in a morbid game for your entertainment?! You've hurt people. REAL people who love you, who care for you!" He announced, eyes scorching. "And you would rather discard their love like trash than actually give up a stupid bloody game?! Make them suffer because of their sentiment?!" He was furious; she wouldn't be able to walk away as quickly as she'd hoped.   
However, his reactions were not very common. She couldn't help but want to tell him various things;  
Study and catalogue his reactions.  
Usually, when met with an infuriating subject he would showcase indifference, or the talent of how he wanted distance from the problem. When she told him her story, however, she was met with a different anger: complete frustration. This was truly red-faced, yelling anger.  
He...cared. He never paid much attention to her, but she savored it when he did. He would send her a new book her dads wouldn't buy, stylish new pretty clothes, and other marvelous things.  
But when he actually met with her, he always acted as if whatever she was involved in was nothing to even make him keep watching her as she told stories. Her mind flashed to one of those instances:  
Sherlock and John were sleeping in another room at Sherlock's parent's house. Grandpa, Grandma, and Uncle Mycroft had agreed to watch them. She was watched by Uncle Mycroft, since Ansel had all Grandpa and Grandma's attention.   
She was drawing a meticulously perfect drawing of the teenage black cat with yellow and green eyes that meowed at them from across the fence. While she was doing it, Uncle Mycroft kept murmuring little facts about it. So she managed to incorporate the facts into the picture. Everything she couldn't put in, she wrote in small and perfect cursive in the corner. When she finished, she brandished the masterpiece. "Look, Uncle Myc. I drew the cat. Isn't it good?" She said proudly.   
He was always a source she liked gaining confidence from. He was supportive, made her feel happier and better about herself.   
He turned around and studied the picture, and grinned at her.   
"I see you took notes. Good." He praised as he patted her head, making her straighten her back proudly.   
"Thanks!" She beamed.   
That memory was the most he'd ever shown affection for her. Now she was just sitting there, in front of him, vulnerable and halfway unconscious. The biggest show of weakness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this an overdo-chapter I see? A very overdo-chapter, you say?   
> Yeah I'm sorry for doing that guys, I'm giving you guys two chapters for this, but it's roped into one big chapter. Thanks for bring patient! :3

Miraculously, not one hospital worker popped their head in. Mycroft's doing, no doubt; but relieving nonetheless. Mycroft said nothing, but it was very visible he was still furious. Even to the point his hands were shaking. The stiff silence returned for a while, and she decided to be the one to break it.   
" I've told the story. I did my part. You will leave me alone and let me disappear off the face of Earth. It is official, Cassandra Holmes is now dead." She said expectantly.   
"No." He said quietly. Then, more forcefully, he repeated it: "No. You will not leave. I won't let you. You will return to your fathers, alive and well."   
Her eyes glistened with mischievousness as she smiled. Her wits had come back to her, and there was nothing Uncle Mycroft could do to stop her.   
"Oh, my dear Uncle, I believe we had a deal. You are to let. Me. Go." She stated.   
"No." He restated but realized what she was doing too late.   
She had unhooked herself from all the tubes and IV cords without his noticing. She quickly pulled of the pulse monitor from her finger and hopped out if the bed. Mycroft grabbed for her, but her reflexes were faster than his, and she just dodged him and dashed down the hall and out the door. Before she knew it, the hospital she was in faded into the distance. She checked around at a billboard. It was about some campaign, but she saw what she was looking for: her location. She knew she was in a small town near the big city. She could go there for cover, or she could remain here and incorporate a new character into the locals' minds. She chose the big city.   
********  
When she was able to locate her recently-left hidey-hole, she took no hesitation in running back in and collapsing in he middle.   
This was a lot to handle. Even for her. To list out her priorities was what she needed to do.  
1\. She now had the most powerful person in Britain as an enemy  
2\. She had to stay away from her dads  
3\. She needed to kill Cassandra Holmes, once and for all  
That was what she needed to do. Just three tasks. Three. So why were they so daunting?

 

She sat at a computer in the local library. She was erasing all traces of Cassandra. Birth certificate, insurance claims, EVERYTHING.  
She couldn't possibly delete everything forever though. She was too sentimental. The life and accomplishments of Cassandra Holmes was nothing but a small hard drive. That was all it would ever be. A reminder.   
After reducing her life to a drive, she began to create a new one.  
Megan was her first choice, but it was too American to her. Elizabeth was more like it. It was still elegant, and didn't sound foreign.   
Elizabeth Carlisle. The new her.   
Born five days before Cassandra, height shorter, weighing less. She changed everything, but only slightly. The only, ONLY thing she kept the same, her chink, was her middle name. Naomi. The name she was to take on was Elizabeth Naomi Carlisle. Cassandra was all but gone, but Elizabeth would live on for her.   
She retired back to her home after tying the loose ends. She was exhausted. Hell, she barely made it past the opening before she collapsed on the floor.   
'No' she told herself, furrowing her brow. 'This shouldn't be happening. I shouldn't be tired.' Her mind pulled. She went over the events of the day: she ate and drank her fill, so that couldn't be the problem. She wasn't actually injured. She had done nothing to be in pain. But yet, her bones ached and protested even breathing. Her muscles were over worn, feeling tired as well. There was a five-ton weight on her body, but truly nothing but air resided there. She wasn't going to do anything like hop once more into view, so she was left with two alternatives: live through it or get some drugs. A small, almost unaffected part of her mind screeched of how catastrophically horrid this was. But, it was like throwing a gnat in a hurricane. The pain in her drowned out the voice, and before she knew it, she was getting up and heading to the nearest drug den. Heroin. She didn't care if she was going to pay all she had. She just wanted it to STOP. She couldn't stand it anymore.   
When she arrived at the den, her body was screaming out in pain; protesting to take a single breath. She walked on in, hoping not to be too obvious. She was relieved when not a single customer was in the building. Only a shady dealer, as always.   
He was dressed in casual clothes, a hoody and jeans. He had dark, ruffled hair. That was all she could tell about him.   
"Hey sweetheart, what are you doing in here? Want some goodies?" He asked, an evil glint in his eyes.   
She fixed her face, a look of seriousness. "How much you have?"   
His face melted in to an unreadable expression as well. "I'll give you fifteen ounces for fifty pounds, beginner's discount." He said.   
"Done." She handed him the money, he handed her the bag. As she turned to leave, he asked her one more question: "You coming back?"   
She thought it over for a moment.   
"Not really sure." She responded carefully. Then, she took her leave, retreating to her hole.   
When she got there, she had already found a good-sized vein, and her hands itched for the syringe. 'The pain. Make it stop. Make it stop.' She thought.   
As she repeated her mantra, she plunged the needle into her arm and felt the drug enter her system.   
Peaceful. Oh so peaceful.   
She sighed happily and leaned on the wall in a befuddled state. She felt like a cloud, rising from her pain-ridden body and floating into the clouds. She couldn't remember anytime she'd ever felt so euphoric. Everything was alright in the world. No suffering, no pain. Just nirvana. True happiness. Freedom.  
Her mind flashed back to her parents. 'No,' she thought, frowning. But her face soon fell back happily when the thought faded. She just sat there in her drugged state, relishing the silence.   
*********  
It had been two hours since her last dose wore off. She was trying to quit, but she was helpless. The addiction had consumed her. Yet here she was, in front of the door to the den once more. Her hands were already shaking. Even though she was pretty oblivious to her own health, she knew her body couldn't stand her reckless treatment much longer. Her distance between her and her old family seemed to be working. To her, at least.   
Mycroft had made no move to capture her since the hospital, even when she knew he could see her.   
There could be three reasons for that. One, he could be trying to hold up his end of the deal they made oh so long ago. Another could be he wanted her to suffer, to stay away. The last idea she had for his actions was he was waiting for her to pull her own act together. She'd decided it was probably the last. She knew she was probably following her father's childhood path to a 'T', yet she couldn't care less.   
After the thoughts went through her head, she opened the door to the den. In it, something she never wanted to see.


	12. Chapter 12

Her dealer was lying on the ground, presumably dead. Standing next to the corpse, an old enemy. Mycroft, leaning on his always-present umbrella. His eyes were cold and unforgiving. "Ah. Cassandra. So nice to see you after all this time. Almost a year, I believe." He said, his tone icy.  
"Same goes for me, but I haven't a clue who 'Cassandra' is." She snarled in reply.   
Mycroft's eyes widened in mock surprise. "That's right....what was it?" He asked, pretending to rack his brain.   
"Elizabeth." She spat. "Why did you do this?" She asked with slitted eyes.   
His face became serious, no longer sarcastic and teasing. "I granted you anonymity, and this is what you do? Ruin yourself with drugs?" He asked, a snarl pulling at his lips.   
She wouldn't cry. She was done with weakness.   
"Yeah. Just like my father. I, after all, can't fall far from the tree evidently." She answered, satisfaction and confidence filling her when emotions betrayed him and his confident look wavered. She'd struck a chord.   
His wall reappeared just as quickly as it faded, though, and he grew a stern face once more. "I promised you'd walk, but I'm not letting you die." He said.  
"An intervention, is it?" She spat. "You can't take me anywhere. I won't let you!" She screamed defiantly. His face softened.  
"I'm sorry for this." was all he said.   
Before she could see what he was going on about, a pair of arms enveloped her and she felt a pinch in her neck. Everything went black.


	13. Chapter 13

When she awoke, she didn't even bother opening her eyes. She just didn't want to live. She wanted to just die and and stay dead. Life was too much work. Her head felt like it was mined throughly, her limbs and eyelids made of lead.  
She finally did open her eyes, however. As they focused, she could tell she was at least not in a hospital this time. In the room she was situated in, there was next to nothing. She was on a small bed with light blue sheets, a cheap nightstand beside her, a trash can under it. There was a fold-up chair in one of the corners. A cheap picture on the wall opposite the bed.   
There was a pamphlet on the nightstand. She got up on her elbows and picked it up.   
"Welcome to Peaceful Walls, the best drug rehabilitation centre in Britain!" It read. There was a picture of a happy man on the cover, smiling and holding a thumbs up sign. A stock photo, no doubt.  
Great. She sighed out loud. 'A drug rehab. Mycroft finally found something to rehabilitate in me' she thought bitterly. She hated him before, but now another wave of fury overtook her. She was nothing if not flashy and dramatic, and she thought of many excellent deaths for him. Eventually, she wondered what time it was, and if she could eat. She hopped out of bed, but fell as soon as she tried to stand. When she fell on the unforgiving white tile, she screeched. She was so cold. A head popped into the room. She couldn't quite see anything but a glimpse of blond hair. She felt strong hands lift her and put her back in the bed.   
"Are you okay?" A pair of innocent and sympathetic blue eyes bored into her. Their owner was a boy, her age.   
He reminded her of Daddy John. She grimaced and sucked in a breath.   
He took this the wrong way and his eyes widened as he checked her over quickly.   
It turned out she actually was hurt. When he patted over her hips and stomach, she sucked in another breath unintentionally. "Ow." She groaned.   
"I'll be right back," he assured as he dashed out of the room. Moments passed. Suddenly, she doubled over and dry-heaved into the blankets covering her, glad she hasn't eaten anything. She felt horrible.   
'Withdrawal.' The realization hit her like a truck.   
Before she could do anything, the boy rushed in through the door again, holding a handful of pills and a bottle of water.   
"Take these. They'll help." He said, giving them to her. She gulped down everything, drowning it down with the water.  
"Look, do you think you can keep down some food? Or do you want some more liquids?" He asked, taking slow and deliberately, looking her straight in the eyes.   
She opened her mouth, but immediately choked.   
She had taken on a greenish tinge. Even the most basic of people knew what that meant.  
He grabbed the trashcan from under the nightstand and thrusted it under her chin without ceremony. She gladly retched the pills and water back out.   
When she was done, the boy insisted he check her over again. She didn't have any resistance left in her, so she just laid back and complained when he patted tender skin, which was basically everywhere.  
When he was done, he just leaned back and stared at her. "It's like you've been to hell and back!" He marveled.   
She wanted him to go away, wanted him not to see her weak like this. She looked him over quickly and made a deduction out loud: "you aren't a doctor yet, but you are volunteering for a degree. You have two divorced parents, and you were probably conceived by mistake. You are a common person, nothing too exciting happened in your lifetime. It is late, however, and you aren't used to being up late, but I screeched loudly and it probably woke you because you have a baby....sister." She deduced quickly. She hoped he'd get embarrassed and leave or maybe storm off angrily. Anything to get him away from her. She felt like this boy was innocent, like he needed to be protected, but she didn't know why. To the most degree, she felt like she didn't want him to see this. She relished his innocence and wanted him to remain like that forever.   
Instead, he just sat back and stared at her more intently. "How did you know? Where did you learn that?"   
'Bang-up job, me.' She thought bitterly.   
"I'm...I'm..not...." A wave of nausea swept over her. She fell on the bed, hoping that the floor could swallow her up and let her die.   
She had to give in. The pain was unbearable. She mentally screamed at herself and choked the words "I need...Help me, please." She was desperate.   
"I'm going to get you help. I will be right back. Just hold on." The boy said, dashing out the door once again.   
She sat there, staring at the depressing white ceiling, she didn't believe any deity of some sort, but issued a prayer to let her die or provide some relief all the same. 'Let me die or leave me be. Let me die or leave me be' her mantra echoed through her head for what felt like hours.   
When she head the door again, the pace was slower. Not the boy's. A woman. She appeared over Cass and looked her straight in the eye.   
"Hello. I brought this to help you. I need you to relax so I can inject it." She spoke calmly and she showed Cass a syringe filled with a strange substance. After all her time, however, she knew it wouldn't help her. It was probably something that would kill her, in fact.   
'The world has chosen to kill me off, then. So be it.' She mused. 'At least I got one of my choices.' She thought.


	14. Chapter 14

Just as she felt the woman wipe her arm with a biting swab of hydrogen peroxide, the door opened again. The boy, judging by his pace. She couldn't see, but she heard. Oh, she heard. The boy threw something at the woman's hand, making her drop the syringe. "Get out! You can't hurt her!" He yelled ferociously. The woman fled, her confident stride that was showcased in the beginning was evidently broken into a wild run. The boy ran over to her. "Are you okay? She didn't inject anything, right?" He asked expectantly. "Yes and no." She answered him, wincing slightly when she sat up on her elbows to see him. "But first, do you have anything? Anything at all?" She asked desperately. The boy nodded quickly and brandished a syringe. "Painkiller, sustenance, and something to help your stomach." He reported, sinking the needle into her skin. She felt the bite of the needle, and then felt the drug sink into her veins. The pain didn't go away; but it did subside, and that was all she could ask for. A long pause filled the air as her breathing sustained itself. "So...how did you know those things about me? Clever enough to guess my name?" The boy smirked, trying to break the silence. "I didn't know anything. I deduced, since those facts were clear as day. Upon that reasoning, I'll have to admit I'm not quite sure what your name would be." She reported. The boy chuckled. "Right then, genius, my name's Alex. Yours?" "Uh, I don't really remember." She sheepishly pretended to not know. "Well," he said, taking a file out of the nightstand, "says here you are Miss Elizabeth Carlisle. A pleasure to meet you." He reported, smiling kindly. 'So that means I will keep my anonymity, thanks to Mycroft. I knew he couldn't turn the deal' she thought, mentally smirking. 'I guess this could be worse.' Her mind ran through many other alternatives, some bad enough to make her visibly shudder. All the while her mind was focused in itself, she didn't notice Alex being completely rapt on her as well. He was nothing short of fascinated about the svelte, clever brunette. The way he could tell the cogs in her brain were turning almost to the point he could hear them. The way her brow furrowed as she took new information into account. It was amazing.

_He remembered the first week the mysterious girl came into the rehab centre. Normally, he felt nothing more than pity at all the washed-up addicts who ended up there. But this girl, she made him feel different. He wanted to protect her; to never let harm come to her. To care for her. These feelings confused him at first; he didn't even really know her. That being said, he still couldn't_ _help but feel drawn to her. Anytime he was bored in the centre and had drifted places, he found himself in her room every time. It was completely strange, even though love itself was a strange concept; an unfathomable force. He had girlfriends before, so he was definitely not completely new to the whole thing. But even then, he never felt such an unannounced profound bond before. Those relationships were based more of of attraction, yet this was more chaste._

Alex had usually just brushed it off, blaming his damn hormones. But deep down, he knew he couldn't escape his feelings for her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I know I haven't really stuck to my schedule anyways, but I'm gonna be posting A LOT less than I have because reasons

The next day, Cass had woken bright and early, after falling asleep against her own will. She was all too happy to eat, yet the same couldn't be said for the group she had to meet with once her meal was over.  
She was more than visibly disgruntled when she realized there was no chance of escape. She could only be in the restroom for so long, and only then when she was accompanied, and all the doors were locked.  
She'd even tried to get shut up in her room by doing ridiculous things, starting food fights and yelling details about the employees' personal lives. All efforts yielded the same result: they isolated her in her room for a few minutes and wrote everything she did up as 'acting out'.  
She felt antagonized, to say the least. Like she was nothing more than a toddler having a tantrum. It was infuriating. She felt helpless, with no clear way out of this mess that had become her life. She was on the brink of insanity, one broken nerve away from ballistic. She was quickly transcending into madness. The fibers of her personality dissolved, leaving her nothing more than the self-absorbed sociopath her father was.  
All the while the girl Alex saw when "Elizabeth" first came to the centre was slowly dissolving, leaving this emotionless prat in her wake. And, as the girl left, Alex would have to admit so did his attraction to her. He found himself caring less and less about her. That isn't to say he didn't miss the girl who he had known so little about until the puppeteer had become a puppet herself.  
He did know, however, if given a choice, he wouldn't hesitate to bring back that girl.  
He sometimes could see her, just mere traces, however. It was as if she were just buried beneath some twisted form of priorities. Like a fight or flight reaction gone horribly wrong.  
Everyone else could see it, too. In the staff lounge, everyone talked of the ridiculous girl who was 'being EXTRA-crazy'. People had bets on if she was headed for an  
Asylum next, or if she could pull it together. The former of the options being far more supported. It seemed less were concerned if she was going to the funny farm, but more when. Bets ranged from the next day to the end of the month, but somehow never did anybody from the nut house come.  
Silently, Alex would thank every passing day she remained safe. He had pledged to himself to bring the girl back. He knew it would probably end in bitter disappointment, but he couldn't care less.


End file.
